Jorge and Izzy called us into the dining room. We sat around my oak table eating tacos while Izzy explained how she met Jorge in the UCLA library and they fell in love. Trapped in the lie she told her grandfather before she left Costa Rica last summer, Izzy let him assume she was still engaged to Nick. Now that her grandfather was on his way to the States for a visit, she had to reveal the truth—she and Jorge wanted to marry.
“I don’t know how to tell him. Even my parents don’t know about Jorge yet.” She crumbled the last bite of her taco into the yellow wrapping on the plate. “After Jorge and I graduate, we want to move to Costa Rica. Nicky always talks about what a good psychologist you are. On Thursday, I asked him if maybe I could come to you for advice.” She looked across the table at me, pleading. “I love my grandfather. I don’t want him to be angry. What should I do?”
Jorge reached for her hand. Their eyes searched my face as if their happiness depended on my answer.
I gave them a comforting smile. “Be gentle. Sit your grandfather down in a private setting. A place you won’t be interrupted. Tell him you have something you need to talk about that may be difficult to understand. Reassure him that you love him, then tell him the truth.”
“That I lied?” Izzy’s face creased in alarm.
“You might not want to open with a confession,” I said gently. “I think it’s important for your grandfather to understand where you’re at right now. After you left home with Nick—a friend—you fell in love with Jorge. Focus on your feelings instead of past behavior. Avoid excuses. If he gets angry, resist the urge to fight or withdraw. The kindest thing you can do is to listen and to acknowledge how he feels about this new information. And until he arrives in town, try not to imagine a problem that doesn’t exist,” I said with a shamed glance at Nick. “Trust your heart, Izzy. Your whole family will be very happy for you. It’s clear to me how much you and Jorge love each other. Your grandfather will see it, too.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Your home is beautiful,” Izzy said as we rinsed off the lunch dishes in the kitchen. “And I love your yard.”
“Thank you.” I glanced through the back window, beaming. “The lemon tree is my favorite. When I was a little girl, I felt positive I could pay my way to Disneyland with a lemonade stand if my dad would plant a tree for me. He did, and my mom and I made fresh lemonade every summer. I never quite got that stand going, though.”
“I love fresh lemonade,” she said, drying her hands. “Is it okay if we make some?”
“If you remember the measurements. It’s been years. I can’t be trusted without a cookbook.”
“My mama taught me, too. If you get the sugar and a pitcher, I’ll put our men to work outside.” Izzy called over her shoulder into the dining room, “Jorge, Nicky—we need eight or ten of the fattest lemons from the tree.”
Within minutes, we became a lemonade production line. Jorge sliced the fruit; Nick extracted the juice. Izzy made simple syrup in the pitcher with the sugar and hot water. I poured in cold water, then filled four glasses with ice.
“Izzy gets the first taste—this was her idea,” I said. We watched in anticipation as she took a sip.
She puckered her lips and shuddered. “Perfecto.”
“Killer,” Jorge said after tasting. He glanced at me. “I’m sorry. I mean…I shouldn’t have…Izzy and Nick told me that you…Oh man, did I just mess up big time?”
“Not at all,” I said, grinning at his clumsy apology. “I agree with you—about the lemonade, of course.”
“Tell us what happened at the station this morning, Liz,” Nick said. “Are you off Pratt’s suspect list?”
“For the moment.” I gave them a shortened version of my morning with Carla, ending with the damaged photo she had in evidence. “Why would Laycee’s killer smash an old wedding photo?”
“Laycee’s husband had a reason—he hated Jarret,” Nick said.
“We already ruled out Forrest,” I said. “And if Kyle Stanger killed Laycee and left the symbol, why destroy the picture?”
“Again—hated Jarret?” Nick said. “The photo meant something to the killer. Nothing else in the bedroom got trashed.”
“What about your ex-husband’s girlfriend?” Jorge said. “Maybe she was jealous.”
“I assume Detective Pratt queried Jarret about his love life. He dates around. There’s one woman I know of who’s infatuated with him. If a jealous lover killed Laycee and left the symbol, why smash the wedding photo, too? Our divorce happened years ago.”
“But he kept the picture in his bedroom,” Izzy said. “Maybe this killer thought Laycee was you.”
“Me?”
“The photo of Laycee in the news looks just like you,” Izzy said. “I noticed the resemblance as soon as I met you.”
“I can see it, too,” Jorge said. “You’re both pretty, same dark hair, same size.”